Keeping Chickens
by pretentious-emo-kid
Summary: A RH story that starts off before 5.05, covers the events of 5.05, then has a happy ending. Smatterings of angst along the way, and a rather short chapter to kick it all off.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: 4 chapters - 1. Pre 5.05 2. Pre 5.05 3. During 5.05 4. Post 5.05 First ever 'Spooks' story. Hope you like.

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Chapter One

Maybe Juliet was right. Perhaps she was in love with him.

It wasn't that he couldn't read people's feelings – that certainly wasn't the case. Nor was it false modesty; he knew that he could make Ruth smile in a way that no one else quite could, that he could make her eyes flash with laughter, that he could even bring a pink flush to her cheeks. He knew that he could make her happy. He knew that he could love her.

Yet, somehow he was never quite sure about Juliet's words. Because there was always that inscrutable…something…to Ruth Evershed that managed to confuse him.

Sometimes she seemed so distant, so unconcerned – as though she barely registered his presence. And how could that be? How could she possibly love him when she usually bore her thoughts and feelings so unashamedly? How could she tell Ros to stop hiding behind metaphors one moment, and run from loving him the next? After all, however much strangers might underestimate her, _he_ knew that Ruth wasn't one to scare easily.

So, he would convince himself that everyone was wrong. That _of course_ she didn't love him.

And _that_ would be when she did something like this; stand before him, insisting with a ferocity that made her eyes smoulder that she Not Naïve. It was as though she _needed _him to know it, that in fact, in that one second, making sure that he knew it was her singularly highest priority.

Almost like she loved him.

Oh, Bloody Hell.

---

Ruth could feel the threat of a red tinge already beginning somewhere close to her ears. Why did it matter whether he thought she was naïve? What difference did it really make?

None at all, was the answer. And yet she stood there saying it like a petulant child when there were far more urgent things that needed discussing.

_Like a weapon of mass destruction eh, Ruth?_

"You're absolutely right," said Harry.

But Ruth snapped her head away from him to look over the London skyline. He was humouring him because he was lovely, and polite, and a gentleman. Because he pitied her for being such an idiot.

And that was why she couldn't bear to look at him.

_---_

Harry wondered if it was something he had said that had suddenly made Ruth so determined to avoid looking at him, but it didn't seem likely. He was about to move his mind onto the next possibility when he was reminded of something else that Juliet had said, and suddenly knew that he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by.

---

"That's quite a conversation shift." Ruth was admittedly quite justified in her startled reply.

"Onto a rather happier subject than weapons of mass destruction," pointed out Harry, hoping that said subject would also prove to be significantly less disastrous. "Or your naivety," he added.

"I'm **not **naïve," she said, but she was grinning this time.

So was he.


	2. Chapter 2

Because I forgot to put one in the last chapter…

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Spooks', the characters, or the storylines. I am seeking no profit, and this is purely for entertainment.

Please don't sue me. :)

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Chapter Two

"New York."

"Paris."

"New York!"

"Paris!"

It was like watching themselves from a distance. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Ruth knew that she was quite adamant about New York and Atlanticism, and Harry was certain that nothing would sway him from Paris and romance, but they could have been reciting the alphabet to one another for all the difference it would have made.

The real conversation was not in what was said. It was in his calm, steady gaze and her eyes that wandered over everything but him, his still feet and her dancing ones.

"Paris."

_You really look quite lovely, you know._

"New York."

_New York, Harry. Intellectual debate here. Remember? _

"Paris."

_Yes, yes. Paris though. And I mean it – the candlelight's shining in your eyes._

"Where's your spirit of Atlanticism?"

_Look. You can't flirt with me all night and not expect me to reciprocate at some point._

"Where's your spirit of romance?"

_Rightly so! I'm better at it though._

Silence.

_Silence._

"I often dream about a big trip. The Grand Tour. All the great capitals of Europe – Paris, Madrid, Rome, Berlin. Visiting the museums, walking in the streets, sitting in cafés."

_In all seriousness, Ruth…I know that you're nervous, but –_

"Do some 'people watching' without a back-up team and a surveillance van."

– _You don't have to protect me, Harry._

"It would be something. Of course it's not a trip to do alone."

_I know _that_._

"Did you have a particular companion in mind?"

_I'm testing you, Harry. Please don't fail._

"It would have to be somebody whose conversation you enjoyed, yet who understood the need sometimes for quiet. Somebody with a gentle sense of humour. Principled, not foolish, or naïve."

_It's you, Ruth. Always will be._

It was enough for that evening. All that needed to be said.

And anyway, they had all the time in the world.


End file.
